Breathing The Blaze
by StarkLovesShawarma
Summary: Dean is sent to hell and Sam believes he will never see him again. When the oldest Winchester finally returns he's different, and just what Sam needs to fulfill his needs. Wincest,demon!Dean. Language, explicit violence, sexual situations. Multi-Chap.
1. Chapter 1

**Deleted the story that had these writings in it and decided to combine the first two chapters. **

**I do not own Supernatural. **

Vision distorting with swirling tears engulfing his eyes, Sam screamed out for his brother, making a louder sound than he had ever made before. His back was forced against the wall of the suburban dining room they were in, Lilith smirking from Ruby's former vessel as she held him in place with her mind. Now sobbing, the youngest Winchester watched on in horror as the invisible beasts known as hell hounds sunk their gnashing teeth and razor claws into Dean's now shredded torso. The brothers had anticipated this moment for quite some time now, but Sam never envisioned it to be so extremely gruesome.

Sam glanced back and forth between Lilith and his dying brother, tears soaking his face as he pleaded the demon to call her malevolent pets off. Laughing, the blonde haired fiend grinned, outstretching her arm and spreading her palm wide. And suddenly, a searing white light overcame the entire room, Sam's eyes closing from the sheer brightness that was shooting into his face. He could no longer hear the snarl of the hell hounds and he could no longer see the squirt of Dean's blood. Sam's body began to loosen from its glued position on the wall, his back and legs slipping down the smooth vertical surface until he found himself sitting on the hardwood floor, the light no longer blinding his vision.

Opening his eyes, Sam looked up, seeing that Lilith's expression had drastically changed from amused to horrified. All at once the long haired Winchester was confused and somewhat relieved that the piercing light had caused no harm to him whatsoever. As he stood, the demon took a step back, her heel clicking against the floor. Lilith was completely stunned, the outcome of her attack not playing out as well as she had expected. "Back…" she gaped up at the considerably taller human who had begun to walk toward her, but not before he picked up Ruby's demon slaying knife that lay on the ground.

"I said back!" Lilith shouted, and now Sam could tell the strongest demon in creation had lost her mojo by the crack of her pathetic voice.

"I don't think so." Sam's lip twitched as he brought the blade back, ready to strike the demon. As soon as he made this motion, Ruby's former vessel's head tipped back, and the thick black smoke that was Lilith bellowed from her mouth, accompanied by a blood curdling scream. And then, the body toppled to the hardwood floor, lying next to the bloodied corpse of Dean Winchester.

Coming to his knees, Sam scooped up Dean's head in his hand, the tears breaking the brink of his eyelids and dripping onto his brother's unresponsive body. "_Dean…"_ Sam sobbed out, his eyes staring into the cold and lifeless circles that were Dean's irises. As he cradled the oldest Winchester's body in his arms, Sam had no concept of what his big brother was going through at that very moment, below him.

* * *

><p>"<em>Help! Somebody help me!"<em>

His surroundings were dark, his eyes barely catching flashes of the setting he was in as bright bursts of lightning struck all around his aching body. Although he couldn't see anything, Dean was well aware that there were chains suspending him in the hazy and scorching air that surrounded him. Thick, rusted hooks pierced his flesh at every angle and were tugging, as if someone was on the other end toying with his limp and defenseless body. It was awful, the most horrendous pain the oldest Winchester had ever experienced, like his bones were being snapped one by one, his soul burning from the inside out.

"Sam! _Sammy!" _Dean screamed at the highest capacity his lungs would allow of him, the copper flavor of blood filling his mouth and throat, panging against his itching taste buds.

"_Sammy can't save you now Dean."_

As soon as the deep and wicked voice whispered this in his ear, the hooks were tearing at his battered flesh, the pain so unbearable Dean began to puke, feeling the bile fill his throat and start to choke off his air supply. Just as the brunette could feel himself begin to fade, the hooks tore all the way through him, letting his limp body begin to plummet to whatever was below him, his mouth finally able to release the vomit and suck in the smoky air.

The plunge came to an abrupt end when Dean hit what seemed to be a concrete floor, landing hands and knees first onto the rough surface. "_FUCK!" _Dean shrieked out, feeling the shattered fragments of his bones shift underneath the skin and muscles of his hands and legs. Suddenly, as the hunter was about to collapse onto the ground, a hand snaked its way into the top of his sweaty hair, fisting up Dean's locks and yanking his head backward, causing his neck to snap, making the most grisly sound the Winchester had ever heard. Dean had tears sliding down his filthy cheeks as he felt his vertebrae dislocate from his spine, leaving him to wonder how he could possibly still be alive.

"_Please-Please stop…" _Dean whimpered out, his eyes clasped tightly shut. He did not want to find out what the creature was that was inflicting this level of pain on him, much less move any part of his demolished body, even if it was only his eyelids. Suddenly, he was being dragged by the roots of his hair, the fist clutching around his hair tighter as it pulled him into a brightly lit room, a total contrast from where Dean had just spent what seemed to be hours.

No matter how long or loudly the hunter screamed for help, he knew in the back of his mind that it would never come.

* * *

><p>Before his eyes opened up, Dean could feel the low gurgle of a groan leaving his raw throat, the familiar pang of blood still painted over his taste buds. He was disoriented, feeling fingers pull tightly on his eyelids, forcing the bright light of the room's overhead fixtures to pour into his vision, blinding him for a good minute before his sight was restored.<p>

"_Where am I?_" Dean's battered voice struggled out, the fingers releasing his eyelids and letting the Winchester blink away the dryness in his eyes. Attempting to crane his neck forward, the hunter realized that his head had been strapped down by leather binds, along with his wrists and ankles. As all of his senses gradually began to arrive once more, Dean glanced down at himself, seeing that he was nude, body forced down onto a cold and hard metal table. His emerald eyes widened as he looked up, seeing an all too familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

"Long time no see, eh Dean?"

The human struggled against his binds, knowing there was no possible way he could get free, his strong will not letting him go out without a fight. It was no use. Teeth gritted and chest heaving up and down, Dean watched as Azazel inched toward him, his clouded yellow eyes gleaming at the sight of the powerless man. "Did you miss me?"

Pursing his lips into a small circle, Dean hocked up and right into the Yellow Eyed demon's face, the saliva smacking against his skin and sliding down the bridge of his nose. A smirk twisted onto Azazel's face, bringing a hand up to wipe the spit away. "Now, that's no way to treat an old friend, is it Deano?"

"Shut the_ fuck_ up," Dean muttered, blood-stained teeth bared and neck tight as he stared into those daunting yellow eyes, flashes of his mother's scorching death scene reeling in his brain. Azazel had come to stand at the human's side, the sinister smile still stuck to his cheek as he leaned down, a gloved hand reaching up to reveal a jagged and shining blade to his murderer. Dean's heart rate quickened at the sight of the fatal weapon, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his flickering eyes.

The pointed tip of the gleaming knife came to rest on Dean's cheek, his pupils struggling to look down to see the slick blade. The smug grin never left Azazel's face as he slid the blade downward, softly over the human's throat, then down to the small tattoo inked just under Dean's collar bone. "A smart thing you and Sammy did here," Yellow Eyes studied the artwork, the tip of the knife tracing the smooth outline of the pentagram.

Just as Dean was about to spit a witty comment toward the infamous demon, sharp pain began to seethe through his muscles, the blade stabbing into his chest and sinking halfway down. Dean screamed out a low growl, Azazel beginning to carve away at his throbbing flesh, around the tattooed skin. The hunter's body thrashed and arched and did anything to get away from the horrifying pain, but to no avail. Heavy gasps left Dean's lips, sweat rolling from his forehead as he felt the blade stop at where it had began, finally being pulled out. Azazel's opposite hand trailed across the Winchester's collar bone and down the wound he had inflicted, his fingers suddenly digging into it and yanking the chunk of cut flesh out.

Dean was hyperventilating, his throat closing and eyes flooding with tears as he watched the Yellow Eyed demon admire the gaping hole where the human's anti-possession tattoo had previously been.

For months it seemed demons of all kinds, some familiar and some not, would walk into that bright room where Dean was strapped down every day, a unique and different torture method waiting to be tested. Dean was their guinea pig for all sorts of new _experiments._

Most of the time it was a demon named Alistair, but for a couple weeks it had been Meg, that pesky demon who had plagued the Winchesters some time ago, before they successfully sent her back to Hell. She would joke and smirk and fuck with Dean's mind just for kicks, slicing and dicing away at his flesh until there was nothing left of the poor bastard besides snow white bones, dripping with his thick blood.

Other times it would just be randoms, demons that Dean had murdered on Earth who were nameless to him. He quickly found out that the demons would never forget his face.

They would hack his head open until brain was revealed, Dean's nightmarish screams echoing through the large room as they shoved hot iron prods into his skull, scrambling his brain matter until he was left drooling on the metallic table. They would wrap jagged and spiked chains around his limbs, playing tug-of-war until there was nothing left but Dean's torso and head, blood spurting every which way as he shrieked and sobbed. The worst of all was when Dean was lead out of the white room and thrown into a blazing pit of fire, the feeding grounds for the hell hounds.

No matter how gruesome or awful the death, Dean would always find himself suddenly awake once more, strapped to that table, awaiting his torture. It went on like this for what seemed to be years. At the end of every horrific day, Dean would lie battered and smashed on the floor, still alive and barely breathing as the lanky demon Alistair would approach him with a nastily warm smile, the same offer rolling off of his tongue every single time.

_"All of this torture can end Dean. But only if you torture the others..."_

And every single day the man's answer was the same, spat out in a shaky, broken voice. "_Fuck. You."_

Until one day that is.

The punishment had been particularly grisly that day, and as the torture had come to an end, Dean sat on the floor, his eye sockets empty and dripping his crimson blood, his pink, fleshy muscles exposed as his skin lay scattered on the floor, he heard the footsteps of Alistair grow closer, and his body trembled at the accustomed offer.

"Okay...I'll do it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for all of the avid horror fans reading this story, but this chapter isn't going to have anything like that. This chapter is basically a flashback from Sam's point of view while he's grieving over Dean's death. The flashback will be in italics. **

**I do not own Supernatural.**

Darkness blanketed itself over the still motel room, the only shade of blue moonlight flooding in was from in between a broken section of the blinds covering the window. Sam lay on one of the stiff beds, his back turned to the second one a few feet away. The emptiness of the room felt as though it was weighing down on the hunter, the silence beginning to be eerily loud. It hadn't been the same...without Dean. Sam's emotions were now hardened, Azazel's blood pumping through his veins taunting him. Soon, he would need to drink. Two months had passed and Sam still lays quietly every night, mind raveling with thoughts of his older brother.

* * *

><p><em>-1996-<em>

_Dean had finally slipped away into sleep, his hand no doubt enveloped over his glock he kept snug under the pillow, in case of emergencies. Sam took a quick glance back at his brother before zipping up his black hoodie and making his way out of the motel room's door. _

_The winter air chilled Sam to the core, his outfit of a hoodie and jeans paired with black converse proving to be not much help in shielding the cold. Looking up, the thirteen year old watched as thick clumps of snow fell from the sky, a couple landing on his reddened cheeks and melting away. Shoving his shivering fists into his hoodie pockets, Sam began to wander down the dimly lit street, thoughts of his father blinking through his head._

_John had left Sam and Dean alone for a week and a half now. He told them before he left that it was a job he needed to take on by himself, much to Dean's displeasure. The older Winchester offspring idolized his father, and any chance he got to spend quality time with him was a treat. So needless to say, Dean had not been in a good mood the entire time his father was gone, which made for lots of arguing between the two brothers. Sam hated fighting with his older brother. Just for tonight...he had to get away. _

_Snow plows had not yet done their duties on the street Sam was currently walking on. His converse sunk deep into the white snow, the crunch being the only thing the teenager could hear in the middle of the night. It seemed as if everyone had died; like the world was all to Sam as he looked around, not a soul to be seen. Sometimes, he liked it this way. But not tonight. _

_Sam missed his father. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Dean had been nicer to him this past week. Maybe the pain in Sam's heart wouldn't weigh so heavily on him if he just had someone to communicate with. He just wanted to be loved...and that was something he was sure that his seventeen year old brother did not feel toward him. _

_With all of the hurtful thoughts running rampant through Sam's young mind, the teenager began to tear up, his eyes blinking away softly as if trying to suck the tears back into his ducts. Stumbling along the lonely street, Sam plopped down on the curb in a small neighborhood not too far from the motel, his mouth tightening as he choked back a whimper. He just wanted to be normal, have a normal family, and maybe stay in one place for more than a month at a time. Even though he lived in such close quarters with his brother and father, Sam had never felt so outcast in his life._

_"Sammy!" _

_Whipping his head to the left, Sam saw a dark figure running toward him on the snow covered street. It was Dean, dressed in nothing but a pair of ripped jeans and a black Metallica T-shirt, his handgun clutched in his right hand. "Dean?" The younger teen said, suddenly standing as his brother came to a halt in front of him. _

_"What the hell are you doing you idiot?" Was the first thing that came from Dean's quivering lips, the statement making Sam feel lower than he had just moments ago. But then, Sam felt the wind being knocked out of him as Dean's toned arms scooped him forward into a tight hug. "You had me scared out of my fucking mind!" _

_Sam's dark eyes were surprised, his hands awkwardly hovering over his brother's back as if oblivious as to what to do. Dean had never hugged him before. "Don't do that to me Sammy, ever again, you hear?" Dean's shivering body pressed against his sibling's, pulling his considerably smaller frame up into his. _

_As Sam's hands came to rest on his older brother's back, he closed his eyes, feeling some of that pain in his heart die away. "I won't Dean...I promise."_

* * *

><p>Tears seeped into the dark blue fabric of the pillow case cradling Sam Winchester's head. The memory of that snowy night in 1996 brought back so much pain and so many other emotions that the man laying in the motel bed couldn't handle it. This was the first time he had actually cried since Dean had died a few months back, mainly because the thought of that love he discovered with his brother was something he realized he would never experience again. He regretted now that he hadn't shown it more often.<p>

Again, for the second time in his life, Sam had never felt so alone.


End file.
